’ ‘And who, may I ask, is Dorothée?’ asked Gerald. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘Ah, grandpére. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. "Then his case is hopeless. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall.
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